


Restless Wanderer

by Gemmiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9.11, Angst, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, First Born, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 06:19:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmiel/pseuds/Gemmiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone in the Impala, Dean reflects on the Mark of Cain and whether he's really cut out for the wandering life any longer. A coda to 9.11, with spoilers for that episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restless Wanderer

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't so much a story as it is a vignette-- just Dean's thoughts after he leaves Crowley in 9.11. The songs referred to are the Allman Brothers' "Ramblin' Man" and Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again." Bible quotes are from the NIV.

_Nobody hates you more than you do._

It’s true. Dean knows it’s true, and the fact that it came out of the mouth of the King of Hell doesn’t make it any less so.

He’s been turning it over in his head since Crowley left him to go look for the First Blade. He's always loathed himself, deep down, but the new scar on his forearm has only made him hate himself more. The Mark doesn’t hurt, exactly, but it feels… weighty. 

He sighs, remembering the other mark, the one Cas left on his shoulder. That’s a mark of Heaven, a mark he’s always been proud of. It’s a mark that says somehow, inexplicably, he was good enough for an Angel of the Lord to pull him out of Hell, despite all the awful things he's done on Earth and in Heaven. But the Mark of Cain… well, that’s a mark of shame. 

The sense of shame tugs at him as he drives alone through the night, reminding him that he is poison, just as he said when he walked away from his brother and his best friend. He can practically feel it dragging him down toward Hell.

And yet he can’t bring himself to be sorry he’s taken it on, not really. If it’s the only thing that can defeat Abaddon—well, he thinks he finally understands what Cas was trying to tell him all those years ago, when he partnered up with Crowley and got his hand on a load of surplus souls so he could power up enough to defeat an archangel. Some enemies are worth taking any risk to defeat. Some enemies are worth sacrificing your soul to take down.

He laughs, a harsh, strident sound, at the realization that he’s done almost exactly what he was so angry at Cas for doing so long ago. He’s working with Crowley, and taken on power that isn’t his, to try to make the universe a better place.

It had taken him a long time to forgive Cas. But he knows, he _knows,_ that if he picks up the phone and calls Cas, the angel will forgive him instantly, will grant him absolution, just as he did for the whole Gadreel thing. Cas will be worried about him, anxious about his well-being, but he will forgive him. Because Cas always forgives him his trespasses, every time. Every fucking time.

_She knew who I was. What I was. She loved me unconditionally. She forgave me._

Cain’s voice echoes in his head, as it’s been doing for most of the night. He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the memory, because what he’s thinking is stupid. Yeah, Cas will always forgive him—he forgave him for _torturing souls in Hell,_ for God’s sake—but that doesn’t mean Cas loves him. Not like Colette loved Cain, not that sort of love. Just the friend sort of love.

Because yeah, Cas would forgive him anything, would die for him, but that doesn’t mean…

Oh, hell. Maybe it does. 

Of _course_ it does.

He remembers the way Cas looked at him when their gazes met for the last time on that bridge, just before Dean walked away. The memory makes his eyes sting with tears. Cas is always looking at him like that, like he thinks the world revolves around Dean Winchester, and it's almost painful, because he's so ridiculously unworthy of it. And yet he's certain that Cas is never going to stop thinking of him that way. 

Cas loves him. Not just in a friend sort of way, but in all possible ways. If he's going to be totally honest with himself, he knows that.

But just because Cas loves him so totally doesn’t mean he loves Cas, or that he misses him, or wishes the angel still had his wings so he could be here instantly if Dean spoke his name. Not that Dean would do that anyway. He’s fine all alone out here on the road, just him and his Baby. He was born a ramblin’ man. Like a drifter, born to walk alone. He's so tired he's scrambling lyrics in his head, but the point is, traveling is what he loves to do. He’s just _fine._

Despite the glow from Baby's headlights, the road ahead is dark and empty, and he sighs. Who is he kidding, anyway? He’s not fine, any more than Cain was, alone in that empty house, surrounded by land he couldn't even grow a garden on.

He’s never been a Bible reader, but he knows bits and pieces of it, because a lot of it is relevant to his job. And besides, he's spent an awful lot of time in motel rooms, where if you need to take a dump, the Bible is often the only reading material available. A line from the Biblical story of Cain comes to him.

_When you work the ground, it will no longer yield its crops for you._

Dean laughs, softly, bitterly. If that's not a metaphor for his own life, he doesn't know what is. He's never been able to settle down and let anything grow, either. He's never been able to put down roots. The bunker was the closest thing he's ever had to a settled existence, and now...

Goddamnit. He misses Sam, and Cas, and even the bunker. He misses his bedroom—the only place he’s ever had that he could fill with his stuff, his old photos and guns and Vonnegut books, his cherished vinyl. 

He misses his home.

Another line from the Bible comes to him. _I will be a restless wanderer on the earth._

He has to leave home behind. Home, and his brother, and Cas. He knows that. He’d sworn to keep his distance, to stop dragging everyone down with him, and he’d meant it, damn it. He's poison. And it’s even more necessary to stay away now that he’s wearing the Mark on his arm. He didn't bother to peruse the fine print before he accepted it—maybe he hadn’t wanted to—but he’s pretty sure the Mark makes him bad news, more poisonous than before.

He’s had enough of putting the people he loves in danger.

_The people he loves._

He sighs again, and admits it to himself. He loves Cas. He's _in love_ with Cas. He's not sure when it happened, exactly. Maybe the minute Cas walked into his life in a shower of sparks, or maybe the moment their eyes met on that bridge, just before Dean walked away for good. But most likely it was somewhere in between, the precise moment lost somewhere in the long, complicated tangle of their relationship over the years. Somewhere along the line, he'd fallen hard for Cas, and he hadn't let himself notice until loneliness and exhaustion forced the realization on him.

It doesn't matter when he fell, not really. What matters is that he misses his angel so much it makes his chest ache.

But he’s not going home, not ever again. He’s a ramblin’ man, a drifter. A restless wanderer. 

The thing is, he's not sure he's cut out for this life of wandering any more. He's gotten too used to the comforts of home—his memory foam mattress, waffles and bacon for breakfast, the pleasure of listening to "Ramble On" any time he wants and however loud he wants (and no matter how many times Sam threatens to turn his records into Frisbees). He misses it all. He misses Sam.

He misses Cas.

As he drives down the dark, empty road, he's startled by the force of his own longing. More than anything, he wants to pull out his cell phone and call Cas. Just so he can hear his voice.

The weight of the Mark tugs relentlessly at him, and exhaustion drags him down, but the heaviest weight of all is loneliness. Another lyric comes to him. _Oh, Lord, I pray you give me strength to carry on..._

No, he thinks fiercely. He won't call. He won't. He's not pulling the people he loves down with him, damn it. He won't do it. He's poison, and they deserve to be free of him, so they can be happy and safe.

He can find the strength to carry on without them. He has to.

But he's weary in body and mind, and despite himself, a brief prayer escapes him.

 _Cas,_ he thinks. _Oh, Cas. I miss you._


End file.
